Right In Front Of Me
by Hazel Eyes 10
Summary: Mary and Tom find love where it isn't supposed to be. Spoilers for Season 6.


Henry was just about dressed and Mary's stomach twisted painfully as time ran out. She couldn't keep putting off what he deserved to know, especially after getting their hopes up yet again. The words were on the threshold of her lips, and it felt like she was jumping into an abyss despite the faint morning light streaming through the window.

"By the way, I'm not pregnant after all." Her tone didn't match her inner turmoil.

"Oh? I was sure we'd done it this time." Henry stopped combing his hair in the glass and turned toward the bed. "I'll be in York all day. I may even miss dinner."

"Again?" Her eyes widened.

"You're displeased?"

"Well I can understand if it happens from time to time, but two nights in a row?" She sipped her tea daintily to hide her frown.

"Sales have taken off and there are many investors who have shown interest in my business."

Mary lifted an eyebrow. " _Your_ business?"

"How silly of me. Good thing Tom didn't hear that." Henry chuckled, though she didn't see what was funny about it. "I'm there so often without him, as you know." She couldn't help feeling like that was a jibe in her direction. "I guess it slipped my mind."

"Hmm. Well, don't let it in future."

"No, you wouldn't let me." That was definitely a jibe. "In any case, it would be out of their way to come here for dinner when we can discuss things at a local restaurant." Or public house, he left unvoiced. He fixed his collar for the umpteenth time. "Well, I must be off." He strode to her side of the bed and pecked her lips. "Enjoy your day with the sheep."

"You mean the cows."

He rolled his yellow-blue eyes. "They're all the same, I should imagine." He donned his hat and left.

Mary's tight smile fell when the door clicked shut.

XX

Tom reached the car just as Henry was igniting the engine.

"Henry, I know I've been working on the estate more than usual recently. Spring is a busy time for farming and the like."

"Of course it is." Henry's fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel.

"Do you need me to stop by the shop soon? Or I can take a look at the numbers, if you need."

"No need to worry about that. I've got it all under control. But you can certainly visit and check on things when you can."

"Alright, then." Tom smiled, tapping the car. "Don't go too fast." He nodded toward the second floor.

"Oh, you know me." Henry smirked, then peeled out of the driveway.

Tom sighed. Ever since the opening of the shop, it seemed Henry's love of speed had kicked in again. Tom understood in a way, except it wasn't just renewed interest in racing that worried him. Mary's husband reminded him of caged tigers he saw in circuses. So much energy and power cooped up in a house that was miles away from the sort of life he was used to living. Henry hadn't fallen in love with the county's rolling green hills, or the gentler rhythm of a village, or the farms that were Downton's lifeblood. Tom knew that cities had their virtues, but crossing the Atlantic had opened his eyes to what he really wanted for himself and Sybbie.

He flipped open his pocket watch and his eyes trailed over the picture of Sybil he kept inside. His tension lessened slightly and the corners of his lips tugged upwards.

It was half past nine, and Mary would be down soon to visit the cows.

"Are you ready to go?"

He turned, startled, and there she stood, dressed in her new beige coat and matching hat with a silver band wrapped around it.

"You're early." She looked at him like he'd just said trees had leaves. "I'm ready when you are."

They walked in silence while birdsong rang around them as they crossed fields. Mary's footsteps dug into the ground harsher than usual. Tom sensed that something was off and frowned.

When they arrived, the cows had already been moved into the barn. They looked healthy, though a little worn out from their trip, many of them lying on their stomachs. The farmer seemed to be on top of things – Mary's pointed questions didn't even seem to faze him. When she finished, she nodded sharply and simply left, expecting Tom to follow. He furrowed his brow, said some last words to the farmer, and caught up to her.

"So, when are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

Mary didn't look at him. "What makes you think something is bothering me?"

"It's obvious _something_ is wrong. Don't try to hide it. I'm not stupid."

She glanced at him quickly, then dropped her gaze. "You're anything but stupid." She wrapped her arms around herself against the chilly breeze and sighed, her breath coming out as a tiny cloud. "Maybe I'm the stupid one."

Tom chuckled. "Don't make me laugh." When she didn't elaborate, he turned her to face him. His heart sunk when he noticed unshed tears. "Mary?"

Her eyes steeled and the tears were gone. "Are you aware that Henry has seen fit to discuss business ventures with investors without your presence in York today?"

Strange. Why hadn't he told him this morning? "He might have forgotten to mention it. I'm sure he'll fill me in once he can." He watched her closely, knowing she wasn't done. It couldn't be the business side of things that had her this upset.

Mary's resolve wavered a little under his gaze, but she said no more. "Let's go. I don't want to be late for luncheon."

She turned to continue walking, but he stopped her with a gentle, yet firm grip on her arm. "You don't have to talk to me now. But let me know if there's anything I can do for you." Her eyes widened, but she slowly nodded.

He let her go. She looked at him for a moment longer, then they walked back in companionable silence.

XX

Cutlery snipped against plates as everyone ate and light chatter fluttered about the dining room, though Mary simply ate quietly. When Henry had gotten back from York, he'd prattled on about cars and the shop. It still vexed her that he hadn't taken an interest in her day.

"I heard that you've started talking to investors about the company," Mary heard Tom say two seats down from her.

"Yes, we had our first negotiations yesterday. They're looking promising."

"I would've liked to know about it. I could've spared some time to join you."

"I'll fill you in on the details. I just know how busy you are with sheep these days." Mary's grip on her fork tightened. "I don't want to add more to your plate."

Tom chuckled. "Well the shop is more yours than mine, but even so, I'd like to be kept in the loop, if you don't mind."

"Of course." Mary relaxed, glad that the subject was settled and that dinner could carry on normally. "You know, I was thinking of perhaps racing again."

Mary's heart flipped, and everyone's gaze shifted from Henry to her.

"Well, that's certainly a surprise," Papa said. "What spurred this on?"

"I meet race car drivers all day long, and I'm afraid their stories have dug up my passion for it." He sipped his glass of wine and they all followed suit, except for Papa who scowled at his lack of alcohol.

"But, darling, what if something like last time occurs?" She tried to compose herself, but panic seeped through her mask. Her skin burned as everyone's attention focused on her.

"Yes, there's always going to be that risk," he admitted. "But should I really let it stop me from doing what I love?" It was like he'd slapped her. "And that's what I've come to see these past few months. I miss it immensely."

"Oh, yes, because we all love arriving at our final destination at one hundred miles per hour," Granny said, cheekily.

Mary dropped her utensils onto her plate. Silence fell over the dining room.

"Really, Mama, was that necessary?" Papa asked.

"No, it wasn't," Mama answered for her.

"You won't start racing anytime soon though, right Henry?" Tom said rather pointedly.

"No, it's all up in the air," Henry said, following Tom's lead.

"If you will excuse me." Mary rose, and the men at the table stood in unison as she left.

Mary kept her head bowed until she was safely hidden on the second floor and could no longer hold back her tears. She didn't realise where she was going until she reached the nursery. She knelt next to George's bed, covering her mouth to keep from making noise. His chest rose and fell gently, and it comforted her in the smallest of ways.

The hole Matthew had left in her heart had been stitched up thanks to Tom and her family. But it scared her to death to think all that work could be undone — that the man she now shared her life with would risk losing _his_ , again and again, just for fun.

She wasn't being fair though. It was stupid to think that he'd give up something he loved so dearly for her, and she never wanted him to in any case. But she'd gotten so comfortable with the idea of racing being a thing of the past.

If she were honest, it was what his passion confirmed about them that worried her the most. She swallowed a whimper. They were different. He tried to take an interest in the management of Downton, but those conversations led to half-hearted comments and grunts. And all his talk about cars and the like had been more tiresome than thrilling.

Yet her best friend loved cars and they got on well. Why couldn't it be the same way with her husband?

She remembered the day in the forest when she'd told Tom that love faded over time, no matter the circumstances. How she'd wanted to be wrong.

"Mary?"

She jumped and placed a hand over her chest. Tom stood there, still dressed in his dining clothes. "Goodness, you nearly gave me a heart attack," she whispered.

He approached and crouched down to her level. "Sorry about that." She looked at him expectantly. "Everyone's gone to bed. You should too."

She looked away, her gaze resting on George again. "I can't. Not yet."

"Join me in the library, then?"

It'd been a long time since they'd spent an evening by the fireplace. Not since her wedding. Surely that couldn't do her much harm.

"Very well."

Tom followed her to the library and poured drinks as she sat on the edge of the couch. Tendrils of warmth caressed her skin, comforting her. He offered her a glass. The flames made the whiskey look like gold and she downed half of it.

"Did you know he was going to take up racing again?" she asked.

"No, he never told me. There's a lot he hasn't been telling me lately."

"That doesn't seem like the best dynamic for business partners."

"Can I tell you a secret? I much prefer working with you than with him." He winked.

She smiled and was surprised how easily he could achieve genuine ones from her. "Well, not everyone can be as good as me."

"Perish the thought." His eyes crinkled, and something in her chest squeezed. It was probably due to the alcohol since she'd already finished her glass. She stood to fill it. "Are you happy, Mary?" She spilled some drops on the table. Papa would be upset to see such spirit go to waste.

"What do you mean? Of course I am." Suddenly, the image of Tom's face contorted with rage and hurt appeared in her mind. _Don't lie. Not to me._ She swallowed and put the bottle down shakily in defeat. "I suppose I could be happier. Have been happier." She picked up her glass and sat back down in front of him, avoiding his inquiring gaze. "I'm afraid I was right. Except this time I would've liked to be wrong."

"About what?"

"About Henry and I having nothing in common." She slouched against the pillows a little. "How do we do it, Tom? You love cars, but our conversations are interesting, even on the worst of days."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He sipped his drink.

"It was meant as one, I suppose." She finally had the strength to look him in the eye. "But I can't find cars interesting beyond their practicality, and he can't find the thrill of living in the country. If he could, he would live in York."

"It takes time to adjust. He's grown up in cities, after all."

"But just five months ago he seemed well-adjusted. He wanted to be involved in Downton, he wanted to give up racing." She pursed her lips. "It's like we're progressing backwards."

"Well, you've only been married, what, six or seven months? Give it a little time."

She looked into his eyes. There was something in them that she couldn't place. "But what if he starts to race again? I don't think my heart can take it."

"That's a conversation for the two of you."

Mary already knew how that discussion would go. She leaned her head on her hand.

 _I'm not going through that again._

XX

Tom was pleased that their nightly haunts in the library had returned, though he felt guilty for it. They could only have them when Henry stayed in York too late for dinner, which was about half the time since summer began. As much as Tom was exhausted at the end of the day, he looked forward to unwinding with Mary. It was a reprieve from formalities and rules that kept them courteous when in company. It was one of the rare times he could be himself, and he suspected she felt the same way.

Tom sat at the desk in their shared office, writing up a report, when Mary entered. He looked up and smiled. She was dishevelled from her visit to the farms, but she had insisted on going in his place so that he could finish his task. His eyes lingered on the flush of her cheeks and her huffed breath before he returned to his writing.

"Any notable problems?"

"Not really," she said, peeling off her gloves. "The pig that died a few days ago didn't infect the lot of them, which is a blessing."

She sat down on the spare chair, and the faint smell of farm drifted to him, though it was dampened by a fragrance that must have been some sort of perfume. She was probably the only person who could leave a farm smelling like she'd just come out of a bath.

Not that… _Don't think of your sister-in-law in a bath, you fool._

He mentally shook himself.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Tom looked up from his report, eyes slightly too wide, before he smiled to cover his embarrassment. "Sure, why wouldn't I be?"

"Your face is red and you're trembling." She reached across the desk and placed her bare fingers on his forehead, a maternal reflex, but the sparks that shot up his spine shocked him. "You've got a bit of a temperature, I think."

"It's nothing, Mary." He brushed her hand away.

"If you say so."

He gathered his papers and sealed them into an envelope before slipping it into his pocket. "It's almost tea time. Let's go see the kids."

She stood and slid her hands back into her gloves. Tom put on his hat and stuffed any inappropriate thoughts of Mary into the deepest reaches of his mind. Jesus, what had come over him?

"Henry will be at dinner tonight," she said as they exited the office.

Tom pushed down his disappointment. "That's good." He hesitated, but couldn't help adding, "You should talk to him, Mary."

"And say what? That I want him to stop working to keep him all to myself?" She rolled her eyes. "He'll just say I'm being selfish."

"You're entitled to be a little selfish. I wouldn't want to see my wife only on weekends."

"Are you saying I'm not being selfish enough? That's a first." She smirked.

Tom laughed. "You'd be surprised, but you've changed a lot since we first met."

He expected another witty comeback. Instead, she was silent for a moment. "Tom."

Her tone wasn't teasing. He prepared himself. For what, he didn't know. "Yes?"

"Will you remarry?"

He exhaled. Ah, that question. "I would have to meet the right person."

"Of course."

Tom was captivated by the grass as they walked. He could feel his pocket watch sear his skin through his clothes. Sybil's picture called to him, but he resisted. "She was like my second half. She made me a better person."

"She made everyone a better person," Mary said, wistfully. "And Matthew made me believe I could be… good."

Tom noticed her clasped hands. "Mary, don't believe for a second you aren't good." She was startled, her chocolate eyes wide, like she'd been woken from a daydream. "You are." He didn't need to justify more than that. It was a truth he felt in his bones.

Mary's red lips tried to find words to say before she settled with silence.

XX

It was only Cora, Mary, and Tom with the children today. It had started to rain, which forced them to entertain themselves indoors. Tom adjusted Georgie on his lap as he dealt out the pack of cards onto the desk. Sybbie was on her knees on the chair next to his.

"And since I have a queen of hearts, I win, because its value is higher than Sybbie's jack of spades. Understand, Georgie?"

The blond boy nodded. "It's easy, Daddy."

Tom's heart stopped, then kicked into high gear. He turned to check if the women had heard, but they were still deep in conversation about the latest fashion in London. Thank God. He leaned into Georgie's ear. "You can't call me that."

The boy shifted around on Tom's lap to look at him, confused. "Why?"

"Because —"

"Mr Branson," Mr Barrow called from the door of the library, interrupting the mini crisis.

"Yes?" Tom's voice was raspy.

"Telephone call for you." Mr Barrow seemed amused and Tom frowned, suspicious. He lifted Georgie up and settled him in the chair to continue the card game with his cousin, then walked out into the hall.

He couldn't believe he would have to explain to the four-year-old why he couldn't call him 'daddy.' Hadn't Mary and Henry gone over this with him?

Still, no matter how much he fought it, a sliver of pride swelled in his chest.

"Hello?" Tom said into the transmitter, holding the receiver to his ear

"Hi, am I speaking to Tom Branson?" It was a girl's voice. A little too soprano and very lively.

"That you are. May I ask who's calling?"

"You probably don't remember me. We met some time ago, but I attended the New Year's Eve party that was held at Downton Abbey. I'm Laura Edmunds."

That triggered a clear picture. Blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile as white as snow-capped mountains. No, he hadn't forgotten her.

"On the contrary. How are you?"

"Very well." She paused. "Um, I know this might seem unusual, but I have a request."

"What can I do for you?" He furrowed his brow.

"I was wondering if we could meet for luncheon sometime. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Tom blinked. This woman was direct and to the point. It was surprising and quite refreshing.

"That might actually work." He quickly did the math. "I can be in town around noon. "

"That's perfect."

They set up a location. The full implication of what they'd arranged only hit him when he hung up the receiver. He walked back to the library in a daze.

"Well, who was it, Tom?" Mary asked.

His face burned. He looked around for the children, but Nanny must have already taken them away. He took a seat on a vacant couch. "Remember the editor who works for Edith, Laura Edmunds?"

"Yes?" Cora said, smiling, and he had a feeling she already knew where he was going with this.

"She asked me to go to luncheon tomorrow."

"That's rather forward, isn't it?" Mary's tone was disapproving.

Somehow, Cora's smile widened. "I think it's good that women can show their interest first. That way they won't get stuck with those they don't care for."

"There are more refined ways of arranging meetings with decent suitors."

"You would know," Cora said, slyly. Mary pursed her lips together. "Will you go, Tom?"

"I don't see why not."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I can think of a few reasons."

"Mary, please."

"It's alright," Tom placed his damp palms on his thighs "Besides, I'm not sure how well it's going to go, given my situation."

Mary stood briskly. "Well, enjoy yourself." She looked everywhere but at him. "I must go up to get ready for dinner." Then she disappeared beyond the door.

"Are you excited, Tom?" Cora asked.

"Sure." Tom smiled weakly. "It's just…"

"Don't you mind Mary. She'll be happy for you once she sees past her own problems."

"That's just it though. Am I the only who sees that Mary and Henry aren't…"

"No, you're not." Cora frowned. "But that's hardly any of our business, is it?"

Tom's thumb ran over the lump in his pocket formed by his watch. "I guess you're right."

XX

Mary went upstairs right after dinner. Henry was here tonight, so she didn't have to invent some excuse for missing her and Tom's night time conversation in the library. She flung off her gloves, then peeled away her gold headband. She sat at her vanity and looked at herself in the glass. She felt like her world was slowly collapsing. Yes, she was being melodramatic. No, she wasn't being fair. But she didn't want to be _fair_ , she wanted to be _happy_.

How had it come to this? A husband who was hardly around anymore and now her best friend who would no doubt be bewitched by some working beauty who had no business taking him from his home.

She rolled her eyes and covered her face. How childish of her. Tom had gone through the exact same horror as she had, yet she'd remarried, even hoped for more children, and had moved on with her life. Who was she to hold him back, just to keep his company? She was seething at the idea of him moving on almost the same way she'd seethed when he'd left for Boston.

Sybil never had such selfishness in her. And, with that thought, she came undone.

There was a knock on the door. "May I come in, Milady?"

Mary wiped her cheeks swiftly. "Of course, Anna."

Anna stepped in and noticed her swollen eyes. Her face creased with worry. "What's the matter, Lady Mary?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I'm just being petty."

"I'm sure you're being nothing of the sort." Anna got to work, removing the pins from Mary's intricate updo.

Mary kept quiet as she looked into the depths of her own eyes. She sighed. "I'm afraid it's the definition of petty."

"Is it something to do with Mr Talbot?"

"Partially." Mary sniffled. "No, that's probably all of it, really. It's making me snap at things I wouldn't normally."

"He's been away a lot these days. That must be frustrating."

"Yes. It's not like he's forced to. For all I know, he wants to be away more than he wants to be here. That's what —"

The door opened and Mary's eyelids fluttered. Henry walked in, tie already undone and dinner jacket wrapped over his arm. She'd almost forgotten he was at Downton, given how rare it was.

"Oh good, you're still awake." He laid his coat upon a chair and retrieved his travel bag from one of the wardrobes. "I'm sorry to say this, but I just received a telephone call and I might have to stay overnight in York tomorrow."

"What on Earth for?" Mary clenched her hands on her lap.

"Do you need anything else, Milady?" Anna asked, itching to leave the room.

"No, that will be all."

"Goodnight, Milady." She scurried out of the room.

Henry opened the bag and packed some of his clothes. "Well, you know how late those meetings go sometimes, and the ridiculous hour I get back at. I figured, for this time at least, I might get some rest before driving the return journey. It's a matter of safety really."

"Oh, safety, is it? Are you sure it isn't a matter of more drinking at the public house?"

Henry froze and looked at her, scandalised. "How dare you suggest such a thing? Do you really think I spend my time on leisure more than work? Work that, in case you've forgotten, brings me purpose and satisfaction."

"And you can't find purpose here, with your family?"

"We don't have a family, yet."

He flinched, and maybe he hadn't wanted to go that far, but he did, and it broke her. She stood, outraged. "Get out. Sleep somewhere else tonight. I don't care where."

"I didn't mean —"

"Out."

He tried to reach for her but she backed away. "Let me finish. I didn't mean what I said. It just slipped."

"I don't want to hear your excuses. I don't want you here. Now please leave."

Henry hesitated, then grabbed his things and strode out of the room. She collapsed onto her bed and screamed into her pillow.

XX

Tom's heart raced as he entered the restaurant. He took off his hat and looked around until his eyes landed on the woman he recognized as Laura Edmunds. She lifted her arm in the air to signal him and he took a seat, placing his hat on the table.

"It's lovely to see you," she said, all smiles.

"Likewise." Now that he was here, he started to relax. "It's a nice place, not as fancy as I'm used to these days. It's a welcome change."

She leaned forward on her elbows, and he could just imagine Mary's indignant look. "I know this is nothing compared to Downton Abbey. That place is marvellous. You're so lucky to live there."

"That I am. I never dreamed of it fifteen years ago." He never expected the love he would find, the daughter he would cherish, the family he would gain. "I was just a chauffeur when I first got there."

"I remember you said something about that. How did you come to live there?"

His smile fell a little. "My late wife was Edith's sister."

"Oh, that was impertinent of me. Of course I knew that. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright. I've gotten used to it."

"Have you loved again since then?"

Tom tensed a little, but it was clear that Laura had no ill intent. Being blunt was probably in her nature, no doubt a trait that came in handy in her line of work.

"No, I wouldn't say that. Nothing that compares anyway."

Her blue eyes widened. "It must be nice to love like that. I've never even felt like I could trust a man enough to truly confide in him."

Tom was suddenly sent back to Downton's library, a little over a year ago, when Mary had shared her secret about Tony Gillingham and he'd trusted her with his insecurities about Miss Bunting and moving to America. That was the night they'd begun their nightly ritual, until her marriage to Henry ended it all. Not that it had pained him – he'd been Henry's greatest advocate. Nevertheless, a wave of relief washed over him when he remembered their meetings had started again.

He shook his head to focus on the conversation.

"It takes a load off your shoulders."

"Do you have someone like that now?"

He felt his face flush. Laura's smile faltered. "Not exactly. Although Mary, Edith's sister, is my partner in running Downton. We're good friends." He shrugged.

"Oh, the lady at the race, I remember her. Edith isn't too fond."

A half smile tugged his lips. "They have their differences, but they care about each other in their own way."

The rest of the short luncheon was filled with talk of Sybbie, some politics, and Laura's past. She had two older brothers who'd been opposed to her move to the city. Her parents hadn't minded though, and when she got the job of editor at _The Sketch,_ she used every moment she could to rub it in their faces.

"I'm due to visit them soon. I'm just so busy."

"I don't mean to add to your schedule, but if ever you're up north, you should stop by Downton. You'll be more than welcome."

She reached across the table and placed her hand on his forearm. "I'll remember that."

XX

The train ride from London left Tom to his conflicting thoughts about his love life. He'd invited Laura to Downton, though he had no idea if he really wanted to pursue things with her. After inviting him to luncheon, he felt obliged to return the gesture. It had been fun, that was sure, but her personality was a little off putting. Before Sybil, he might have found that attractive, but now…

His heart panged a little when he thought of Sybil. But he'd had that conversation in his head a thousand times before. If he found someone, she would want him to be happy. So for her sake, he wouldn't avoid potential relationships. That didn't mean he would try too hard though.

Tom stepped out of the train when it pulled into York. The last time he'd been to the car shop was nearly a month ago and it seemed like a good idea to go while he was already out.

He walked up to the store, but the lights were turned off and the door locked. On the window, there was a poster announcing a race on that very day. Tom dreaded the worst. The race was only half an hour from there and before realising what he was doing he signalled a cab.

The sun was setting when he arrived. The high pitched grumbling of cars zipped by.

"Stay here, you'll be paid well," he told the cab driver.

The crowd was cheering, wild with energy. It must've been the final lap because the cars slowed and the drivers hopped out. The winner slid off his goggles and Tom cursed.

Henry was the winner.

When Henry walked through the crowd, Tom pushed his way through and planted himself in front of him. The tall man staggered backwards slightly.

"Do you have any idea how much pain you're causing Mary right now?"

Henry's small eyes widened like he was about to crash. "Does she know?"

"You didn't tell her?" His hands balled into fists and he was sorely tempted to punch Mary's husband in the face. "If you respect her at all, you'll tell her everything, tonight. And she'll decide what to do with you."

"I'm not going back tonight."

Maybe he _wanted_ to be punched in the face?

"Why not?"

"It's late, and now that I've won, I've got some business to discuss with sponsors."

"You know, that's another thing. The shop was your idea, and I was only meant to be a part-time participant, but now I feel like you're squeezing me out of all the decisions, all the meetings that I should attend."

"Well, if you were more interested in spending time at the shop than with my wife, you might have been a valuable asset."

Tom's fist connected with Henry's jaw, and he stumbled back a few steps. Tom's breath was haggard and it took all his senses to keep from pulverizing him further. He thought he heard a flash go off somewhere, and the blood drained from his face when he realised it must've been a camera. The reporters were going to have a field day.

"You don't deserve Mary," Tom said as Henry rubbed his jaw and glared at him.

Tom hurried back to the cab. "Downton Abbey." The driver groaned.

On the way back, Tom couldn't stop thinking how wrong he'd been about Henry. He'd supported him so much for Mary, and in the end there wasn't anything worse he could've done for her.

XX

Mary's grip on her drink tightened as she sat alone in the library. The argument with Henry last night had left her dazed and her mind kept rehashing his words.

 _We don't have a family, yet._

In one sentence he'd managed to insult her childbearing capabilities and her _son._ It was unacceptable that George would count for nothing in her husband's eyes and that was flat.

She gulped her drink.

How she wished Tom were here, now more than ever. They hadn't heard from him all day, though he was supposed to be at dinner. He must've decided to stay in London longer than expected. That had to be it, because no matter how much that didn't sit well with her, she wouldn't entertain drearier alternatives involving train wrecks.

Tom didn't even know that she and Henry had rowed last night — he'd already left for London by the time she arrived downstairs. It irked her to imagine him having fun with someone else. Somehow, without him, she felt more lonely than she had in all the time Henry had been absent. There was no one to sneak looks to when Granny made her witty remarks or when bickering broke out amongst the family.

Who would've thought that an Irish chauffeur would come to mean so much to her, the daughter of an earl? She chuckled into her glass.

Mary got up to fill her empty glass and almost dropped it when the library door swung open. There stood Tom, and she smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. His hair was poking out in all directions, and he was still wearing his coat. She lifted an eyebrow and the joy she felt was pricked by something dark when she thought of what could've gotten him into such a state.

"Did you have fun with Miss Edmunds?" she asked as she poured her drink.

"What?" He still stood by the door when she faced him again. Now it was her turn to be confused. "Oh, yes, it was lovely."

She sniggered. "I'm sure she was."

"Mary," he started, and finally took a seat on the couch, ignoring her comment. "I think you should sit down."

Mary furrowed her brow, wondering what could've put Tom in such a serious mood. She sat across from him. "What is it?" He twisted his hat and he stared into the fire for a moment. Blood glistened in the flickering light. "Tom," she gasped, "your hand."

He looked down at his knuckles, and quickly hid his hand. "Don't worry about me."

"Don't be silly." She took his hand in hers. Some of the blood had dried and now caked his tanned skin. "Tell me what happened."

He hesitated then pulled his injured hand away, replacing it with the other, and squeezed. "I have something to tell you. But I wish I didn't."

"Go on." A trickle of fear made her back straighten.

"I wanted to stop by the shop in York on my way back from London. When I got there, it was closed." She opened her mouth to comment, but he gestured to keep her silent. "Please, let me just get this out." He took a deep breath. "On the window, there was a poster announcing a race for today. So I went. And Henry was racing."

She covered her gaping mouth and tears filled her eyes.

"I told him to come and tell you everything, but he wouldn't. I'm so sorry, Mary."

He watched her. His cerulean eyes were vivid, untainted by flecks of yellow like those of her husband. Her husband who was willing to die and leave her behind without so much as a warning. Her husband who'd lied to her, who'd betrayed her.

Her tears rolled down her cheeks and fell to her lap. Tom moved to sit beside her, his hat forgotten on the cushion, and enveloped her in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"None of this is your fault." She pulled away from him, ashamed of her vulnerability. She shut her eyes to cut off the world.

She couldn't deny it any longer. Henry was reverting back into the person he wanted to be. A person who was incompatible with her. How could she hate him for it? They were who they were.

Suddenly, she imagined Tom punching Henry, and a giggle escaped her despite it all.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"I just understood…" She looked pointedly at the blood on his hand and he chuckled, until they were both laughing and she couldn't breathe. She wiped her tears away when she calmed down and cleared her throat. "Thank you for telling me, Tom."

"I had to. I can't believe I used to like the man. Or think he was perfect for you."

"We were all fooled." She smiled weakly. "Last night, Henry and I had a row." Her gaze fixed the fireplace as she relived it for the umpteenth time. "And he said something that made me question our marriage." Tom remained quiet, allowing her to gain her strength. It was difficult to tell someone else. "He said that his work gave him purpose. And when I asked if his family did too, he said we didn't have one yet." Her voice was strangled at the end.

Tom's grip on her hand tightened, his injured one flexing on the couch beside him. "If only he were here, now."

"I'm quite glad he isn't." It was enough to have Tom with her. Her best friend. Her brother-in-law.

Then she realised just how close Tom was. She was leaning against his side, fingers interlocked. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. She'd never touched so much of him at once. Goodness, she didn't even think they'd danced together before. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks and shifted away from him, withdrawing her hand. It felt bitterly cold.

"I should go to bed. Not that I'll do much sleeping." She sniffled as quietly as she could as she stood.

Tom stood up as well. "Try anyway. And don't worry about the rest of the reports tomorrow. I'll take care of everything."

"Thank you. Goodnight, Tom." She kissed his cheek, probably wetting it in the process, and retreated to her room.

But in her room, she wasn't free. The presence of Henry's possessions reminded her of him, of his betrayal. She leaned against the door and slid to the floor.

XX

Mary awoke to the sound of birds chirping and dogs barking outside. The sun shined brightly behind her curtains. It felt like she was cocooned in agony and just out of reach was her escape.

The door swung open and she rolled over, expecting to see Anna with her breakfast tray. Instead, Henry stood in his travel clothes with his luggage. She sat upright.

"Good morning, Mary." His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't slept all night.

"For you, maybe," she said.

He shut the door behind him. The last time they'd seen each other, they'd been at each other's throats. Now, she didn't have the energy for anger, for arguing. She was just tired.

Henry dropped his luggage on the floor and took a seat in the chair. There were bags under his eyes and she noticed bruising on his jaw. A secret smile bloomed in her mind.

"I have a confession to make."

"If it's about racing, I already know."

He dragged a hand down his face. "Of course he told you."

She bristled. "Yes, some people have the decency to tell me the truth."

He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. "I apologize for what I put you through." He cleared his throat. "I was unfair to you. I let my work take over my life. I let racing back into the picture, where you never wanted it." His yellow-blue eyes met her, but they brought no comfort. "I've realised my mistakes, and how much I don't want to lose you. Can you forgive me, Mary?"

She observed him, and it was like he was a stranger. He lived in a world filled with adrenaline and speed, a world that didn't intersect with hers. It was no more his fault than it was hers. They'd known each other for too short a time before jumping into marriage, despite the barrage of doubts that had burdened her even then.

But it would be their fault if they let their differences make them miserable for any longer.

"We can't ignore the obvious, Henry." She tried to smile, but failed. "We aren't happy together."

"But we can be," he said eagerly. "I'm done with racing."

Mary rolled her eyes. "But you shouldn't have to be done with racing. It's your passion, and who am I to keep you from it? Who are you to give it up?"

"I would be the husband to a beautiful lady and the father to her son."

"Is that really enough for you?"

Henry's gaze dropped to the floor and he sighed. "I know I have a poor way of showing it."

"That's putting it lightly."

"But I know I can be better."

For a moment, she wanted to give in. She wanted the happy family she'd dreamed of since she'd met him. The handsome husband who gave George piggy back rides, who made her tingle at his touch. Before their wedding, she thought it worth the risk to open her heart and give them a chance. But now, with all they'd been through, with the heavy burden they place on each other, she knew better.

"I'm sorry, Henry. It's not what I want. Not anymore." Her hands fussed over a stray thread on her quilt.

His face was pinched, but he didn't seem surprised. "Is there anything I can say to change your mind? Anything I can do?"

She remained silent, and he understood. Henry walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. His touch was chilled by the morning air.

"I did love you. Very much." A small smile tugged his lips, then it fell.

"As did I."

He leaned forward, touched his lips to her cheek and lingered there. "Take care, Mary."

She forced a smile. "Make sure you always win – no crashing."

He chuckled half-heartedly. "Have a little faith."

XX

Tom saw Henry exit Mary's room and clenched his fists. He noticed the travel bags, so he swallowed his anger. "Need help?"

Henry froze for a moment. "There's no need. But I would like a word, if you have time."

"Well, we're both heading downstairs."

"True enough." They strode alongside each other. "You'll come to know soon that Mary and I have decided to divorce."

"What?" The word slipped out loudly.

"Is it that much of a shock?" Henry sighed. "In any case, the company is still partly yours, if you want it that is."

Tom considered for a moment. As much as he'd told Henry that he was being pushed out of the company, he also hadn't put his heart into it, not like he did at Downton. Selling cars wasn't very invigorating, not like taking a motor apart and putting it back together.

"I'll have to think about it. I'll be in touch when I've decided what I want to do."

"Very well." Henry cleared his throat as they reached the front doors. "And I want to apologize for what I said yesterday. I had no right."

"None at all." Tom could still feel his blood boil.

"I wasn't thinking straight. I meant nothing by it."

Tom's smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's all in the past now." He extended his hand. "Farewell, Henry."

"You too." They shook, and Henry strode out of Downton's doors for the last time.

Tom's thoughts wandered all morning as he tried to be productive in the office. It was clear to him that he couldn't remain Henry's business partner. Mutual respect was necessary for success, and yesterday all respect he'd had for him was crushed by his race car.

When he arrived for luncheon, the family was already seated.

"Ah, Tom, there you are. Mary was waiting for you to announce some news," Robert said.

He had an idea what that would be. Her eyes weren't bloodshot, she wasn't all too tense. Tom didn't comment, simply took his seat.

"Henry and I have decided to end our marriage," she said, her voice steady.

Her parents gasped and he watched her intently, worried she would break. But he knew her – she was a coat of armour in public and wouldn't show her cracks in broad daylight.

"Well, we can't say we didn't see it coming," Cora said, gently.

"Nor can I say I'm sad to see him go." Robert added. "What does one talk about with someone who loves cars?"

"The same things you talk about with me?" Tom said.

"Oh, you're another case entirely."

"I am?"

"Yes, because Papa can talk your ear off about Downton's history and you won't even fidget." Good, Mary could still joke.

"It's important for someone to know all the details before I'm gone."

"Heaven forbid we forget which earl hosted which duke over the years." Mary rolled her eyes.

"If you listened, you would know the difference remembering such facts can make."

"Of course, Papa." Mary met Tom's gaze and shared a knowing smile.

He smiled back, comforted somehow.

"Will you be okay, my darling?" Cora asked.

Mary nodded firmly. "I'm already used to Henry being absent. There won't be much to adjust to."

"I'm just sorry it had to be this way." They all ate quietly for a while. Then, Cora added, "By the way, we're invited to celebrate little Marigold's birthday at Brancaster Castle a month from now. It's to be a small affair, given the circumstances."

"How old will she be?" Robert asked.

"Three years old. Can you believe it?"

"Where does time go?" Tom said, shaking his head. "The children will be excited to see her again."

"Indeed." Mary focused on her plate for the rest of the meal.

XX

The talk about the children at luncheon had reminded Mary that she needed to explain what had happened between her and Henry to George. She spun the story around in her head, trying to find the best way to explain to the four-year-old that his new papa wouldn't be around anymore.

Not that he'd been around a lot. But still, these matters were important to children, weren't they?

Tom was out working in the office and she thought she would go to the nursery to be alone with her son. On her way, tears slipped down her cheek. She quickly wiped them. It was too early to break down – it wasn't even past tea time yet. She shoved her emotions into a vault deep in her soul and sealed them away.

She gently swung the nursery door open. George and Sybbie were playing with blocks on the carpet, this time piling them up as high as gravity would let them.

"Look at our castle, Aunt Mary," Sybbie said excitedly, her blue eyes sparkling.

"How lovely. Who's the princess?" Mary asked.

"Sybbie, Mama." George's eyes never left the structure as though his will was the only thing keeping it upright. But it teetered to the side and he swung his hand out to stop its fall, accidentally toppling the blocks to the floor.

"Oh no," George said with a frown.

"It's okay, Georgie, we can build it again." Sybbie was already assembling the pieces and George looked relieved. Mary couldn't help but smile.

"Come with Mama for a moment, first," she said, picking him up from the ground. Goodness, he was getting heavy. She dreaded the day she wouldn't be able to lift him anymore.

Now that Marigold had left Downton, there was more room in the nursery without her bed taking up the space along the wall. She was grateful for the distance it offered her from Sybbie. She sat down on one of the chairs. George still watched the blocks, but he didn't complain.

"I have something important to tell you, darling." No matter how much she'd practiced in her head, her hands still trembled.

"What, Mama?"

She took a deep breath to steady her voice. "Papa won't come to visit anymore."

George finally looked at her. "Why?"

"Because we decided it was better this way."

Her son furrowed his brow and she was reminded of someone, but she couldn't pinpoint whom exactly. "Do I get a new papa?"

Her heart sunk to her toes. "I don't know, darling."

George paused again. "Can I have Sybbie's daddy, please?"

Mary's eyes widened. Then she blinked. Her lips grasped for words, but she couldn't find anything to say other than, "What?"

"I don't mind sharing," Sybbie added, the blocks now forgotten.

"What?"

"Please, Mama?" He was pleading as though he were asking for a new toy she couldn't deny him.

Mary felt a bubble of hysterical laughter swell in her belly, a giggle even escaped, and it was all she could do to keep herself under control. She straightened George's light hair.

"Why do you want Sybbie's daddy?"

"Because."

"Is that the only reason?"

He nodded. She couldn't fight back her smile. Leave it to George to cheer her up in the oddest of ways.

"I don't think that will be possible, my darling. That's not how it works."

George frowned and looked to Sybbie for help.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Sybbie asked, crestfallen.

"I'm afraid not."

George hid his face in her shoulder. He wasn't crying, at least, and Mary rubbed his back. She never would've thought that refusing him a new father would affect him more than losing the one he had.

"Oh, George," she said into his hair, kissing him gently. "All that matters is that Mama loves you."

"I love you, too," George's words were muffled, but they warmed her all the same.

"Come, let's build a castle."

They joined Sybbie on the floor. Mary played with Sybbie's short brown hair and helped them build their tallest castle yet.

XX

Mary was relieved when dinner finally ended. She couldn't take any more of Granny's comments which ranged from technology's encroaching nuisance to Mary's newfound celibacy.

 _If this continues, Mary, your name will be the closest you get to lifelong marriage._

She flopped onto the couch in the library and Tom poured two large drinks. She was stewing, and she felt a little bad for him to have to put up with her like this.

"To new beginnings," he toasted, handing her the glass and taking his seat across from her.

Mary chuckled humourlessly. "Or the end of the line, more like." She gulped her drink.

"That's no way to look at it."

"I'm thirty-four years old, Tom, and I'm not getting younger. I've had two marriages and I have a son. I'll be lucky if another man sees past that. And even if he does, what guarantee is there that I'll want him?" She was wallowing in self-pity, but she couldn't help it. She'd spent all day like a player at the theatre, pretending all was well, when she couldn't recall feeling as lost as she was now. Tom remained silent and let her vent. "Thank goodness for four-year-olds. I told George about Henry and he still made me smile."

"How did he take it?"

"He asked for a new _daddy,_ " Mary sent Tom an amused look, and his eyes widened in understanding.

"I've been meaning to talk to him about that."

Mary lifted an eyebrow. "About what?"

"He called me 'daddy' the other day. I didn't have time to correct him though."

Mary smiled at the mental picture. "Well, I don't know who looked more disappointed when I said no, George or Sybbie."

Tom chuckled. "They're as thick as thieves, those two."

"Quite." Mary took another gulp from her glass. "I can't believe you wanted to take her from us, once upon a time."

Tom laughed. "That seems like so long ago. I'm glad I came to my senses."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I was trying to knock some into you. You were so stubborn."

"Says the pot to the kettle."

She glared at him, but didn't deny it. They sat in companionable silence, staring into the crackling fire, like the answers to life's questions could be found there if they didn't blink.

"I'm thinking of selling my share of the company."

"Really?"

Tom nodded. "I can't work with someone I don't respect."

"Don't give up on it just because of me, please. It's your dream."

"I wouldn't go as far as to say it was my dream. But it was fun. I could perhaps open something else with the profit. Like my very own car repair shop." His voice deepened like he was presenting it to world. "I miss using my hands."

For some reason, his comment encouraged her to drink in the sight of his hands, noting the shape of his dexterous fingers, his short nails, the relief of his callouses. Her mouth dried and she forced her eyes upward to the curve of his brows and the slight lines around his eyes, then she fell into his cerulean depths. She ripped her gaze from him altogether and finished her drink.

"That's a good idea. Do what makes you happy."

"I will. Would you like another drink?"

She glanced at his glass. He hadn't even made it halfway. Ah, that explained the tingling along her spine and her strange focus – with everything she had to drink at dinner, and now this, she was inebriated.

She looked down at her empty glass and the firelight caught on the ring she still wore on her finger, the ring she was obligated to wear until the divorce was final. The symbol of her failure. Pain struck like a lightning bolt, and the dam holding her emotions in check threatened to burst.

"Actually, I'll go to bed now. I want this day to be over."

He took her glass and placed it on the side table next to his couch. "You're right. Get some sleep, Mary, you deserve some rest. And if you're still not up to working tomorrow —"

"I will be." Another day of dwelling on memories would kill her, so work would be a welcome distraction. She leaned forward, barely touching him as she kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, Tom."

Her room was even less comforting without Henry's possessions. She finally allowed herself to feel completely alone. There was a dark, bitter hole that swelled in her belly and swallowed her. She curled up onto her bed as she drowned in torrents of loneliness. Her lungs burned for air, but she could only gasp violently. Mary tore her wedding band from her finger and flung it across the room.

When her anger ran out of steam, she was raw and, strangely, serene. She was free again, and when focus returned she knew she wasn't alone. She had her family.

In her mind, Tom, her friend, her brother-in-law, held her hand, grounding her. Mary held on tightly until sleep washed everything away.

XX

Tom's wrist was starting to hurt from writing so much. He glanced over at Mary, who was reading a letter from the government at her desk. She was fuming.

"It's like a game to them," she said, as though she'd felt the weight of his gaze, "where the aim is to add as many taxes as they can in a year."

"What is it this time?" He stood and read the letter over her shoulder. Her perfume tickled his nose. "Well, it isn't anything we can't handle."

"No, but one day it might be."

"I wouldn't worry, we're doing well. We've diversified, we're getting sheep soon, and the weather has been in our favour." He paused. "Knock on wood."

She chuckled at his superstition. "You know there's no logic behind that saying."

"Well, knock on wood anyway, so you can't blame me when it starts to snow in July."

She laughed and knocked on the table just to amuse him, muttering something about the Irish and their ways. It warmed his chest to hear her laugh so deeply again. It hadn't been easy going through her divorce, but the marriage had ended a long time ago, so her spirits lifted sooner than he thought.

He reached for his pocket watch, glanced briefly at Sybil's photo, and checked the time. "What do you say to ending the day a little early?"

"I couldn't agree more." She stood, slid the chair under her desk and put on her hat which matched her red coat. The colour suited her.

Tom opened the door to their office. "After you, my lady."

"Quite the gentleman you are, Mr. Branson."

"Only by day," he said, mischievously.

"And what are you by night?"

He didn't know what possessed him to do so, but he leaned into her ear. Her warmth radiated on his skin like sunlight. "You don't want to know." He smirked as she blinked.

"How mysterious."

The sun hadn't begun to set yet and it wouldn't for a while. He breathed in the fresh summer air.

"What would you say to a quick detour through the village?"

Mary's brow furrowed. "Must we?"

"There's something I'd like to show you."

"You know I don't like surprises."

"Please?" He tried to imitate the look Georgie used to get her to say yes.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Lead the way."

When they reached the village, Tom led them to an old garage that had been out of use for some years. It was just on the outskirts and in a dilapidated state with vines climbing up the stone walls and grass growing through the pavement.

"What am I looking at?" Mary asked.

"My latest purchase with the profit I got from the car shop."

She looked at him like he was crazy. "You do realise the building is falling apart?"

"It'll be renovated. More and more people own cars, and many end up needing help between Ripon and Thirsk. It'll be worth it."

"If you say so," she said, shaking her head.

Tom laughed. "Thank you for your support."

"Oh, you have my support. I wish you luck." She patted his arm. "Though you've got your work cut out for you."

"I'll have it renovated in autumn, when there won't be much farming to worry about, and it'll be ready by winter when all kinds of problems plague automobiles." He winked.

"Look at you, profiting from other people's misery."

"I like to think I'm their ray of hope."

"God knows you were mine." Tom was startled and his mind instantly went blank. Mary, however, had already started walking back toward the village. "I see the potential. It's a good idea."

Tom turned her words over in his head a few times, then saved them for later as he caught up to her.

They passed by the church and he slowed his pace a little. He'd been meaning to visit Sybil but had always found something or other to keep him busy. Now that he was here, the full weight of his guilt settled in.

Mary followed his gaze. "We still have time before dinner…"

They shared a look and his grief was reflected in her eyes. They headed up the slope to the graveyard and stood in front of Sybil's gravestone. Now that he was here, he wasn't sure what to think. He was so used to sharing his thoughts with her picture that her grave seemed like a stranger.

Tom sent her his love and told her that Sybbie was growing into a beautiful girl, that she took after her mother in all ways.

Mary laid a hand on his arm and he covered it with his own. Then he tentatively led her toward Matthew's gravestone, half-expecting resistance on her part, but surprisingly she let him. She touched it gently. He studied the etched letters of Matthew's name.

 _I'm doing my best to make sure she's happy. I know you'd do the same for Sybil if it were the other way around._

Tom felt lighter as they left the graveyard. He hoped she did too.

"Sometimes I think Matthew was the only one who knew me completely," Mary said after a while.

"It's a rare thing to find people who embrace our darker side."

Mary pursed her lips like something was struggling to come out. "He knew my most shameful deeds and didn't care."

He observed her. "I've done shameful things too. You're not the only one."

"You mean other than burn down an estate in Ireland?"

He knew she was teasing, but Tom sighed. "Much worse." He clenched his teeth and glued his eyes to the ground. "I bedded a maid some time after Sybil's death." He didn't know why he suddenly felt the urge to tell her and shuddered at what she might think of him. "It still makes me sick."

Mary stopped walking and they stood in the middle of an empty field. "A maid at Downton?"

He flinched at her incredulous tone but forced himself to meet her gaze. "Yes. I was weak, then found out afterward that she wanted to blackmail me with a baby. Thankfully she wasn't actually pregnant," Mary's shoulders eased a little. "And she left a long time ago."

"Well, no one can blame you, really." Her eyelids fluttered a few times, then she dropped her gaze to her leather boots. "Do you remember the Turk who died in his sleep?"

His brow furrowed, surprised by the change in subject. "Yes, vaguely. I heard the story, anyway."

Mary licked her red lips. "He died in my bed."

He blinked. "What?"

She sighed heavily. "I was young and foolish, and he was dashing. So I ruined myself, and after that he had a heart attack, I suppose." She swiped her fingers over her eyebrow.

"That must've been traumatizing." Tom's eyes widened. "How did, I mean —"

"Mama and Anna helped me drag him to his room before he was found." She finally looked at him, and her chocolate eyes were flecked with gold in the setting sun, almost the way they were by the fire, yet she looked pained, reliving that night in her mind. "It's a miracle it remained a secret from the papers, though the family knows now."

"If I'd heard it back then, I never would've believed it. Not the proper Lady Mary." He smiled, remembering how pretentious she'd been. "I admire the rebel in you."

"Mama could've lived without it," she said, a smile finally tugging her lips.

"I'm sure."

They walked again, their path illuminated by red strands of sunlight. Then he did an internal double take and fought the urge to laugh, because if someone had told him then that the once stuck up aristocratic young woman he drove to dress fittings would become his closest confidant, he would've ordered what they were drinking.

XX

Brancaster Castle was as impressive as it was the first time they'd visited. Mary pursed her lips as she remembered this was the place she'd met Henry and had scolded him for something or other. So much time had passed since then.

George and Sybbie pointed at everything they found fascinating, while Mary and Tom shared a relieved look now that the loop question 'Have we arrive, yet?' had finally come to an end.

Edith was waving outside the front doors with Herbert, holding the birthday girl in her arms. Marigold quickly pushed her way down when she saw her cousins and Mary approach.

Mary wrapped Marigold in her arms. "Happy birthday, darling. How we miss you at Downton." The little girl said a faint 'thank you' and bashfully looked to the ground.

"I'm afraid she gets awfully bored here, being the only child in the castle," Edith said.

"I can imagine. Sybbie is lucky to have Georgie." Tom said as he stroked Sybbie's hair.

Edith greeted Mama and Papa who were then enraptured by their youngest granddaughter. Edith smiled tentatively at Mary.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Henry, Mary."

"Yes, I got your letter." She fixed her hat and smoothed down the sleeves of her travel coat. "Shall we go in? It's been an awfully long journey."

Tom shook his head slightly toward Edith as though to convey a message, but Mary walked past them into the open doors, leaving her coat with the footman.

Herbert's mother was seated on one of the couches in the drawing room, but she wasn't alone. Opposite her was a pretty young woman, chatting lively about journalism, and Mary's heart froze.

"It's good to see you," Mary greeted Herbert's mother, kissing her on the cheek to avoid looking at the blonde. The older lady said something, but Mary didn't quite register it before the rest of the family entered the drawing room.

The pretty, annoying girl stood. Mary glanced at Tom, whose face was a mixture of surprise and delight. She clenched her fists.

"Surely you all remember my editor, Laura Edmunds," Edith said.

"Of course. Your articles in the paper are excellent," Mama said, her voice overly sweet.

When it was Tom's turn to kiss her cheek, Mary desperately wanted to look away, but couldn't rip her gaze from them. Miss Edmunds' smile widened afterward and she greeted Sybbie with too much enthusiasm.

"She's the only other person I've let into Marigold's secret circle," Edith said.

"How lovely," Mary said and forced a smile. Tom sent her a strange look and she refrained from going any further.

XX

The dinner chatter comprised mostly of the children and how they'd grown since the last time they all saw each other, the work going on at Downton, and the columns in _The Sketch._

"Miss Edmunds, you must come to Downton when you have the chance," Cora suggested as they finished their dessert and glanced at Tom for support.

"Oh, Tom has already invited me, it's just difficult to find time off. News never sleeps," Laura said.

"Well I can give you time, if that's what you want," Edith said.

"Let's not force her if she doesn't want to come," Mary said before sipping her drink.

"No, I wouldn't be forced at all. In fact, I'd like that very much." She smiled at Tom, and he nodded in her direction, though he frowned a little.

Ever since they'd arrived, Mary had been tense, but Tom had surmised that would be the case. This was where she'd met Henry and the castle no doubt brought back memories. He wished he could be seated next to her, for all the good that would do. Thankfully her comments so far hadn't been too sharp.

"I know there aren't many of us, but I still arranged for the dance hall to be opened for the occasion. Besides, who needs an excuse for music?" Edith announced.

"If there's whiskey, then I'm in." Robert said as he stood, though he was swiftly reprimanded by his wife.

The children were allowed to stay up exceptionally late, and the three little ones were twisting and dancing along to the jazzy tunes playing on the radio. Tom joined them, dancing with Sybbie on his feet.

"You might have the best dance moves in the room, Tom, aside from Sybbie," he heard Mary's teasing voice behind him.

He lifted his head. "Is that a challenge?"

A half smile tugged her lips. "Possibly."

He lifted Sybbie off his feet and crouched down to her height. "I'm going to dance with Aunt Mary for a while, okay Sybbie?" The little girl nodded and he kissed her forehead.

Tom took Mary's gloved hand and led her to the dance floor, where Robert and Cora as well as Herbert and his mother were already dancing. Edith and Laura were in their own world, talking by the cocktail table. The music was livelier than he was used to, which made him a little nervous.

He wrapped his arm around Mary's waist. Once he felt the heat of her body, he realised it was the first time they'd ever danced – he'd never touched her like this before. He leaned into Mary's ear to hide his blush.

"This might be the first time we've danced together. Or, rather, the first time the room isn't filled with Mary's men."

She tapped him with the hand that rested on his shoulder. "Honestly, I can't believe that stuck."

"Well, it was true."

The rhythm was fast, and they were mostly improvising. Soon, however, he wasn't even thinking about the dance as they moved in sync.

Gently, he asked, "How are you, Mary?"

She knew what he was implying. "I'm surviving. It's only the place we met, after all. We hardly spent any time together." Her voice was strangled at her last sentence.

He pulled her closer to him and squeezed her hand. They kept quiet, their tempo slowing. Tom breathed in deeply, his senses awash with her intoxicating scent. This close, his gaze slid up the arc of her ivory neck and caught the reflected light on her crystal earrings. Her intricate curls were pinned up, though one of them had escaped, and his fingers itched to twirl it.

Edith walked up to them and Tom pulled away from Mary quickly, as if he'd been caught thinking such things about her sister. _His_ sister-in-law. He mentally slapped himself.

"The children are going to bed. You ought to say goodnight," Edith said.

He motioned for Mary to go first, unable to find his voice just yet. Her eyelids fluttered before she finally walked over to Georgie. He went over to Sybbie and Marigold and swept them into a bear hug, wishing them sweet dreams. Then he lifted Georgie into his arms.

"Will you watch over Marigold and Sybbie tonight?" Tom asked.

"I'll protect them from nightmares," he said, solemnly.

"I'm proud of you. Goodnight, Georgie," he said, kissing his head before letting him go with Marigold's nanny.

Not long after, Laura walked up to him. "You're very good with children," she said.

"I just love those little ones more than anything," Tom said.

Mary had retreated to the cocktail table with Edith. He wondered if he should join them. The last time they'd spoken, they'd been on good enough terms, but they were unpredictable.

"Edith told me that the view from the balcony was spectacular. Would you come with me to see it?"

Tom tore his gaze from the sisters and was met with excited, pleading eyes. "Now?"

"We don't have to stay long."

He glanced one more time at the cocktail table.

"Sure. Do you know how to get there?"

She grasped his hand. "This way."

XX

Mary watched Miss Edmunds pounce on Tom the instant the children left the dance hall, no doubt to ask him to dance, which he wouldn't refuse. Mary strode away from them, toward the cocktails, because she was thirsty, naturally. Not because she still felt Tom's touch, nor because the thought of him holding someone else so closely irked her. She just wanted a _drink_.

She spotted Edith walking over and grumbled internally.

"It's so nice to see the whole family again. It's a pity Granny couldn't come though."

"Indeed." It was Marigold's birthday. She didn't want to spoil the evening with insensitive comments, at least not on purpose, so she kept her words to a minimum.

Edith leaned in, like she was sharing a secret. "Don't you think Tom and Laura would make an excellent couple?"

Mary gripped her glass. Hopefully it wouldn't shatter all over her new, gold dress from London. That would be a shame. "I don't think anything of them, really."

"I think it will be good for Tom. You know, to love again. Maybe even start a new family."

Her hand was trembling and she took a sip to hide it.

"Laura's quite taken with him. She isn't usually one to be bashful."

"Tom doesn't seem too interested."

"Doesn't he? Because they just left together."

Mary swirled around and sure enough they were nowhere in sight. Her breathing grew heavier. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Not yet." Edith must've noticed her sour face because her mood shifted. "Oh, I see what it is."

"What?" Mary blinked, as though she were bored.

"You don't want to lose Tom."

Mary's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"I remember how upset you were when he left for America." Edith crossed her arms. "It's all the same to you. You're holding onto him like a three-year-old does a doll."

"Stop it." Mary snapped. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I just don't want Tom to get hurt the way I did. That's normal."

"Let him get hurt."

Mary was transported back to when Tom held her hand after she'd first broken up with Henry. _You will hurt again, and so will I._

"Fine, he can get hurt all he wants then. I don't care."

"Or do you care too much?"

"Would you leave me alone?" Mary scowled.

Edith recoiled, but stood her ground. "Don't be a bitch." She sent her a warning glare, as if Mary would take the first chance she got to sabotage Tom and Miss Edmunds' relationship.

Would she?

 _Like all bullies, you're a coward._

Mary pounded her glass onto the table, the liquid sloshing all over the place. Everyone paused to look their way, but she marched out of the hall before anyone could comment.

She hurried up to the bathroom and locked the door. She washed the alcohol from her skin and gloves and discovered that _of course_ she'd stained her dress. She did her best to rub it with soap so it wouldn't smell. Her movements became frantic until she couldn't take any more and threw the soap into the sink, covering her face with her hands and letting out a frustrated cry.

So what if she didn't want to lose Tom? He'd been her one constant since Matthew died, the only one to have a clue what she'd been going through, who'd pulled her back from the darkest place she'd been in her life, who kept saving her still, if the whole Henry situation wasn't proof enough of that.

So what if she didn't want George to lose his accidental father figure? So what if she didn't want to lose her best friend?

Mary stopped her thoughts abruptly. That was enough. Whatever lay beyond that was too scary to face. She struggled to gather all her feelings, all her pain, all her vulnerability, and shoved them into the vault in her soul, locking it so tightly she wondered if she would ever open it again.

She wiped her eyes and washed up for bed. It was time to stop being ridiculously pitiful.

XX

When Tom and Laura arrived on the balcony, he was blown away by the hills in the distance, bathed in the silver light of the full moon.

"It's even more breath taking than I thought," Laura said.

"It was definitely worth the climb up a thousand stairs." Part of him wished he could show Mary and the children.

He only realised that Laura still held his hand when she tugged him to her. Her blue eyes and skin were pale in the glow, giving her a ghostly aura.

"I feel silly for not accepting your invitation to go to Downton sooner."

"You've been busy. It's not your fault."

"Well, that's only part of the reason. I was mostly shy."

"You, shy? I never would've guessed," he said, chuckling.

"I know, it's out of character for me," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "But you make me nervous."

"Me? Why?" He furrowed his brow.

She laughed. It pierced the night air. "Isn't it obvious?"

Now that she said it, it was, and his heart kicked into high gear. He heard it beat in his ears.

"I…" He didn't know if he should back away or lean forward. Laura was attractive, and Sybil had been dead for seven years, and she would be happy for him…

Laura kissed him and his inner debate stumbled to a halt. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pressed herself against him.

He exhaled and closed his eyes — and was overwhelmed by flashes of ivory skin and dark hair and chocolate eyes and —

Tom tore away from Laura's embrace, holding her at arm's length.

"Laura, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression —"

"No, no, I understand. I jumped on you," she said, waving her hand to dismiss the subject. "At least I can say I tried."

"You're an attractive woman, Laura, and you're fun to be with. But I'm not… I can't."

"Because of your late wife?"

Tom was once again taken aback by her bluntness. "It's more complicated than that." _A hell of a lot more complicated_. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize." She waved her hand once again. "It's late, we should head back inside."

She was itching to leave, and so was he. Tom nodded and allowed her to pass in front of him.

When they reached the bedroom hallway, they wished each other goodnight. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Sorry to interrupt," a sharp voice said behind him, and he felt his heart burst.

When he turned to face Mary, he couldn't stop his cheeks from burning at the memory of his vision. "We just went to look at the view from the balcony."

"It's worth the detour," Laura said. "I'm off to bed now. Goodnight, Lady Mary." She hurried into her bedroom down the hall. When the door clicked, Mary's eyes narrowed at him.

"Nothing indecent happened," he said. _Unless you consider a terrible urge to kiss you indecent._

Mary frowned. "It doesn't matter to me." Tom noticed her eyes were slightly swollen and her dress was spotted with water. He snapped out of his paralysis and stepped toward her, but she evaded him. "Goodnight, Tom," she said before darting into her bedroom.

He watched her form disappear behind the door, then headed for the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. _Get a grip._ He looked at his reflection, into his wild eyes, then shook his head and rinsed his face again. When he finished cleaning up, his feet led him into his own room. He undressed and slid into bed.

The world was unstable around him, like he'd crashed into a parallel universe where what used to be orderly and tidy was now upended, devoid of sense.

He scrunched his face and rubbed his eyes. There had to be something wrong with him, physically, mentally. There was no other way to explain why he wanted his _sister-in-law._ His _friend._

 _Mary_.

Even now, his body ached for her in the most embarrassing of ways. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed his need into the bed, determined to ignore it.

 _This can't be happening._

XX

Mary donned her mask of indifference well – she had a lifetime of practice. But wearing it in front of Tom was unnatural, like floundering against rapids.

The week after their visit to Brancaster Castle consisted of them both carefully tiptoeing around each other. They spoke the bare minimum needed to work and kept their distance as they played with the children in the afternoon. It was torture, but it was necessary.

Mary had learned her lesson when she sabotaged Edith and Herbert. She wouldn't do anything like that again. But she wouldn't be unprepared when Tom left her, either.

 _He isn't yours_ , she scolded herself for the umpteenth time.

Dinner was served, and Mary focused only on her plate, slicing the chicken into the smallest of pieces to keep from having to look at Tom sitting directly across the table from her. Her skin tingled from his unanswered gaze. Or maybe he wasn't looking at her at all, and she just wished he were.

She stuffed a forkful of food in her mouth and chewed strenuously.

"So, Tom, when will we see Miss Edmunds again?" Mama asked, and Mary wanted simultaneously to punch the table and disappear.

"I wouldn't know," was all Tom said. She bet he couldn't wait. In fact, it surprised her that he hadn't already gone to London to visit.

"She's such a sweet girl, don't you think?"

Did Mama think she was being subtle?

"That she is."

Mary sawed her knife against the plate. "So, Granny, how are Isobel and Lord Merton? I hear they've gone to France."

"They're far too happy if you ask me. Young love was meant for the young for a reason."

"Oh, I don't think there's an age for love," Mama said. "It can emerge from the most curious of places when you least expect it."

Mary's plate was taken away, and she no longer had anything to distract herself from Tom. He was sitting back in his chair, like he wanted to be as far away from the conversation as possible.

Papa finally veered the topic away from romance and Mary was grateful when dinner ended.

XX

Tom stood in front of the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed on the flames. Mary hadn't stayed after dinner once since they'd gotten back from Brancaster Castle. She'd erected a wall between them on that fateful night, though he wasn't exactly sure why she kept her distance. It was frustrating – he missed her and desperately wanted to bridge the gap between them, but he didn't know how to deal with his _problem_ , so he stayed away.

Sometimes, her vision would visit him in his sleep, and he would wake with hair plastered to his forehead and sticky sheets. He was going mad. She was his _sister-in-law._ Admitting he harboured such feelings for her would disgust her, and he'd lose her forever. He shut his eyes, pained by the very thought.

No more friendly banter, no more silent understanding, no more comforting touches.

His legs shook, and he sat down onto the couch, defeated. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. Sybil gazed up at him. Guilt choked him. "I'm sorry, Sybil." He caressed her picture. "I never meant for this to happen. But I can't stop it." He sighed, and shut the watch again. "Please forgive me."

Tom's mind was blissfully blank for a moment, before the sound of the door grazing the carpet dragged him back to the present and he stood.

Mary froze at the doorway, still dressed in her red dinner dress, though her hair was loose and curled around her shoulders. He swallowed. Had he ever seen her hair unpinned like that before?

"I'm sorry, I won't disturb you," she said quickly, and he panicked when she backed away.

"No." The word burst from his lips with such force he surprised himself. Her eyes widened. "Don't be silly." He smiled to ease the tension. "Please, join me." He gestured toward the couch, and for a moment he thought she'd refused.

Instead, she lifted her head higher. "Alright, then."

Tom let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding and slipped his watch back into his pocket. He poured them a drink as she sat down, handed her a glass, and sat in his usual spot. She wouldn't look at him, but at least she was here.

"How are you, Mary?"

She blinked a couple times before forcing a smile. "Oh, well enough, I suppose."

Tom noticed she was tense, and he wished he could believe her.

Her curls looked as soft as down. He forced himself to stare at the crackling fire before he got carried away.

They were quiet, but it wasn't their usual, companionable silence. He dared a glance.

"So, when are you going to tell me what's bothering you?" The last time he'd asked her that, she'd been upset about her former husband. He wondered what could possibly be on her mind to shut her up so tightly she wouldn't even let him in.

"Nothing's bothering me."

He chuckled. "I'm not a fool."

"I know."

"Then don't think I believe you for a second." His weak smile fell when she frowned.

"I didn't come here to be interrogated." She plopped her unfinished drink on the side table and strode toward the door.

Baffled, he stared at her retreating form before following her, abandoning his own glass. Whatever was bothering her was something truly serious. He should have been more tactful. He raced after her and caught her forearm before she could climb the steps to the second floor.

"Let go of me."

"Mary, I'm sorry. Please come back, we don't have to talk."

"I said let go of me." Her voice was threatening, and now he felt like whatever this was about, it concerned him.

"What did I do wrong?" His desperation was palpable. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip.

Mary finally looked at him, anguished. "Nothing. You've done nothing wrong." She ripped her arm from him and hurried up the staircase.

He clenched the railing, torn between running after her and letting her go.

But he didn't see how they could have a sensible conversation tonight. All he knew for sure was that they'd have to talk, and soon, because the thought that he'd done something to upset her made his insides freeze.

XX

Mary planned to be invisible today. She sent word that she wouldn't be at luncheon, because Tom would be there and she couldn't face him just yet, so she'd take advantage of that time by doing all she needed to do in the office. She hurried out the front doors without being seen.

Had Tom been going to the library the whole week, even without her? There was something comforting in the idea that he was hoping for her to come. She quickly dashed that sliver of happiness. It was stupid to hold onto such rituals if she was just going to lose him anyway.

She didn't want to face how much she was carving him out of her life. No such drastic measures had been taken when he'd gone to America. In fact, she'd wanted to stay in touch as much as possible.

For some reason, this was different. He had such power over her, and she didn't want to get hurt.

Mary opened the door and was hit by Tom's scent. Her heart twisted. She shook her head, removing her hat and lying it on the desk. She quickly rifled through stacks of unopened letters and reports on his desk. She had a few letters to compose, which she could do in her room, and she'd need to schedule visits to a handful of farms this week. Harvest was coming up, and it was important to make sure all was in check.

She opened the desk drawer in search of the letter opener. What she found, instead, was the gold pocket watch that Tom usually kept on his person. Mary picked it up, the weight of it heavy in her palm, and opened it. Her eyes fell on Sybil's picture, and she covered her mouth. He'd been looking at it just last night. Why was it stashed in this drawer?

The door opened and she dropped the watch onto the desk. It clanged harshly against the wood.

Tom entered, eyes wide, probably because she'd just dropped his most precious possession.

"I had a feeling you'd be here," he said, closing the door. He must have rushed out of the house because he wasn't even wearing a hat.

"I'm sorry, I was looking for the letter opener," she said, clasping the watch shut and handing it over.

He approached slowly and grasped it, his fingers grazing her gloved ones, and she fought back tingles that skated up her arm.

"You don't have to apologize," he said, placing the watch gently onto the desk. "I wanted to talk to you."

Mary licked her lips which had suddenly gone dry. "If it's about last night, I was just tired and irritable. I didn't mean to snap at you." She looked everywhere but at him, then tried to move around him to leave, but he stepped in front of her.

"I'm not blind, Mary, and I'm not an idiot. Something is wrong, and I want to know what it is." Mary finally looked into his cerulean blue eyes and for a second her resolve wavered. "If you don't want to talk to me," he winced a little, "then at least share with someone else."

She shook her head. "It's nothing." It was getting harder to breathe. Her secret vault shook from the pressure of her bottled up emotions.

"It's not nothing." Tom's Irish accent became more pronounced the more he got frustrated. "We've been avoiding each other ever since we got back from Brancaster Castle. What's changed?"

Anger flashed within her at his audacity. "Don't pretend you don't know." She saw her mistake and silently cursed.

Tom exhaled heavily. "No. I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't have to ask."

"It's nothing important." Her heart was pounding so hard he could probably hear it and her voice was trembling. She just needed to get out.

"If it's upsetting you, it's important to me," he said, earnestly. Mary tried to move past him again, but this time he grabbed her by the shoulders. "Please, talk to me."

His touch made something in her snap and she backed away. "What's the point? You're leaving."

Tom furrowed his brow. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

She'd already taken the first step, she might as well jump off the bloody cliff. "You and Miss Edmunds. You're together now."

He was taken aback. "What? No, we're not."

To her horror, tears filled her eyes. She shrugged to downplay her breakdown. "Even if you aren't, so what? One day you'll find a woman you'll love again, and you'll leave Downton, you'll leave _me,_ like everyone has before." She swallowed to stop the trembling in her voice. "And I hate myself, because I want you to be happy again, I want you to find love, like I thought I had. But deep down I'm selfish enough to want to keep you here, with me." Tom's mouth was agape. A few tears flowed down her cheeks now, but she didn't wipe them away. "I like the person I am when I'm with you. I love the family we've made with George and Sybbie. I love how you make me laugh even when I think I'll never smile again." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And when I realised that at any moment I could lose it all, that I could lose you… I couldn't bear it, Tom."

Now that her secret was out, she was raw, vulnerable, afraid, but at the same time she was relieved. Tom's eyes were wide and bright. He was frozen in place while she fidgeted under his gaze, waiting for him to say she was mad. Just as she was about to run away, he closed his mouth and took a step toward her.

"I could spend my life taking care of Downton with you." He took another step until he was just a hair's breadth away. "I could make you laugh all you want." His fingers brushed away a stray tear, then he cupped her cheek. "We could raise Georgie and Sybbie until they're grown." His other hand swept a strand of hair from her wet eyelashes. "And I'll stay with you, Mary, if you'll have me."

She couldn't be hearing right, but he was looking at her with such sincerity, with such fervour. He was offering her what she thought she couldn't have.

"That's all I want," she said, barely above a whisper.

Tom captured her lips with his. Every ounce of her being glowed, like a veil of darkness had been lifted. His hand slid to the nape of her neck while his arm wrapped around her waist, melding her body to his. Liquid fire pulsed through her veins, and she couldn't help but moan. His grip tightened and his tongue traced the swell of her bottom lip before sucking gently, igniting sparks that danced at the base of her spine. Her fingers tangled in his soft hair as the kiss deepened.

Then he pulled back, and her eyelids fluttered open. He was drinking her in like a man in withdrawal. She must've been a sight to see, with tear-stained cheeks and unkempt hair, but none of it mattered because he said, "You're beautiful."

She smiled, overwhelmed by the joy that bloomed in her chest. Tom cut off any reply she could think of by kissing her neck, and she inhaled deeply, breathing in the woodsy scent that mixed with a spice that was uniquely his. His lips grazed her earlobe, then he rested his forehead against hers. With eyes closed, they simply were.

The world came back into focus and she lowered her arms to lay her hands against his broad chest. His arms wrapped snuggly around her waist. Their breathing was heavy, but slowing.

Mary licked her lips. "What will everyone say?" Her voice was husky.

Tom kissed her gently, and she sighed inwardly. "It doesn't matter. For now, it doesn't matter."

She nodded, then rested her head against his shoulder. The only sure thing was that she was with Tom, and that was all she needed.

XX

Tom couldn't look away from Mary as they walked toward the office the next morning. Her chocolate eyes glittered in the sunlight, and her red lips curved around words he should be listening to, but he was much more entranced by the honey smooth melody of her voice to make out their meaning. He was still terrified that yesterday had been a dream, that he'd wake up and their secret kisses and caresses would be a mere concoction of his sadistic imagination.

"Don't you agree?" she asked as they arrived, removing her hat and revealing dark curls that rebelled against her pins. She looked at him expectantly while peeling off her gloves.

As soon as he shut the door, he smiled and strode over to her, swiftly wrapping her in his arms. Warmth spread where their bodies met.

"I didn't hear a word you said."

His mouth caught her bottom lip and she melted into his kiss. Her fingers travelled up his arms, across his neck, then gripped his hair, pulling him closer, and he was so relieved and elated because this was real.

"We have to work at some point, you know," she said over his lips.

He groaned. "Just one more kiss." And he swallowed her giggle.

XX

Mary was making polite conversation with one of Robert's dinner guests for the night, a Mr Beaumont. Now that his daughter was once again single, the number of eligible male guests had risen exponentially. Tom's jaw clenched and he swirled his drink.

"Goodness, I know that look."

Tom was tugged out of his thoughts by the haughty voice that could only belong to the Dowager Lady Grantham. He hadn't noticed she'd joined him in his corner of the drawing room. She took a seat in front of him, resting her hands upon her cane.

"The look of a man on the hunt," he said, motioning toward Mary and the newest addition to her admirers, hoping his light tone camouflaged his ire.

"No, the look of a man who would protect his woman, no matter the cost."

Tom nearly spat out his whiskey. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Don't you?" She chortled. "My dear boy, let's not pretend you don't care for Mary as much as Matthew did, if not more."

He felt sick. "What? You don't think I…"

"I won't sit here and listen to your flimsy excuses." She eyed him sharply. "There's no doubt. The way you implored me in your letter a year ago to talk sense into my granddaughter because she was throwing away her greatest happiness is sufficient evidence of that."

Tom cringed. "But it only brought her more pain."

"How were you to know? I had half a mind to tell her to marry you, and good riddance to the rest. It's my fault, really." Tom's eyes widened because of the revelation and because Lady Violet Crawley just admitted that she'd made a mistake. "But you were right, she was besotted by the odd-looking car enthusiast," she said like there was a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I'm a car enthusiast."

"You're another case entirely," she said, echoing Robert's choice of words. He furrowed his brow. Why did people keep saying that?

Mr Barrow entered the drawing room to signal dinner. Before Tom could stand, she held out her arm.  
"You've got an advantage over the competition, Tom. You _deserve_ her." And with a satisfied chuckle, she sauntered away, leaving him alone in the drawing room. He stayed for a moment longer until shock turned to hope when he understood that she would be on their side if he and Mary told the family about their relationship.

 _Their relationship._ He closed his eyes and savoured the thought. It was probably too early to call it anything of the sort, but it felt good.

"Will you join us for dinner?" Mary's velvety voice flowed through his mind, then he realised it actually had been her voice and opened his eyes.

She stood in the doorway, then took a few steps toward him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Tom cleared his voice and stood, placing his glass on the side table. He trembled with the desire to kiss her then and there. "I'm fine."

She lifted an eyebrow, but led the way out of the drawing room. "What were you and Granny talking about? You looked like you'd swallowed an apple whole."

He laughed, and for a brief moment his hand grazed the small of her back. "I'll tell you later."

She eyed him through hooded lids, then blinked and nodded before entering the dining room, her head high. He quickly took his seat and fought back a giddy smile, which disappeared the instant Mr. Beaumont leaned into her ear.

XX

In the library, they now sat on the same couch. Tom didn't dare wrap his arm around her in case unexpected company showed up, but their arms touched and he traced the lines of her palm with his fingertips.

He noticed that her topics of conversation were filled with everything but their latest dinner guest who had spent most of the time whispering in her ear. A frown tugged his lips slightly.

"And what did you think of that Mr Beaumont?"

She rolled her eyes. "He was dull, that's for sure. Honestly, that man has no concept of personal space."

"I saw." Tom kept his gaze fixed on the palm of her hand.

She looked at him. "You weren't worried, were you?"

"Not worried," he said. "Selfish. I wanted you all to myself." He smiled mischievously.

"Good," she mirrored his smile.

"It's just," he hesitated, then gave in, "It's difficult to watch you be courted by others."

"It's as hard for you as it is for me. I wish Papa would stop inviting them."

"I guess I'll have to get used to it." His insides wrenched at the very thought.

A glimmer of something he couldn't place flashed in her eyes. Tom wondered if she would take the risk of kissing him, and his heart thudded against his rib cage. But all she said was, "I think I'll go to bed early tonight."

He crashed back into reality. "Of course, if that's what you want." He eyed the clock on the mantelpiece and noted it was actually very early.

She put her gloves back on. "Would you be so kind as to walk me to my room?"

And just like that his heart raced again, but he didn't let himself dwell too long on it. "Certainly."

As they walked in silence, a battle waged within him. Hope and anticipation riled his blood and it was all he could do to smother them. There was no way. No way. They've walked up to their bedrooms together before. It was completely innocent.

When they reached her door, he did his best to appear normal. "Good night, my lady," he said, teasingly.

She gazed at him intently, then opened the door, clasped his hand in hers, and hauled him inside before quickly shutting it again. Tom barely registered what was happening when she tugged him by the lapels of his dinner jacket and kissed him. He instantly pulled her closer, his hands trailing up and down her back.

She pulled away to look at him and he bemoaned the distance. "I've wanted to do that all evening," she said.

The moonlight streaming through the curtains enveloped her in an ethereal glow and he thought her an angel. Tom cupped her face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs to make sure she was solid. "Never hold back, please."

Mary slipped off her gloves and tossed them onto the arm of a chair, then reached up to pluck pins from her hair. He watched, entranced, as strand after strand fell over her shoulders. The headband was the last piece to leave her hair, and she plopped the objects onto her vanity. Tom ran his fingers through her curls, and she closed her eyes for a moment before they opened with purpose.

Her fingers unbuttoned his dinner jacket and his hands stilled as hers moved to unfasten his coat link. She only met his gaze while she worked on his vest.

"Mary." His voice was hoarse.

She placed a finger over his lips, expertly detaching the last button with one hand. Then she swept off his jacket and vest in one motion and laid them with her gloves on the chair. His necktie joined them a moment later.

Tom grasped her hands, stopping her movements, and brought them to his lips to kiss. "Are you sure?"

She pulled their joined hands and kissed his fingers. "Yes."

Tom claimed her lips with his, letting his hands run up her sides. She sighed into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck tightly, then she caressed her way down to the buttons of his dress shirt, unhooking each one. She slid off his braces from his shoulders to remove it. Tom lifted his undershirt over his head and threw it to the ground. She gasped and ran her smooth hands over his bare chest. Her touch flooded him with warmth, sending shivers down his spine and hardening him.

"No union suit?" Mary asked, dazed.

He kissed the junction of her neck and jaw near her ear. "Boxer shorts are popular in America."

She hummed before trailing kisses down his neck and across his shoulders. He practically hissed and gripped her hips. "I can't wait to see them. Take off your shoes."

He blinked and noticed that hers were already lying on the floor. When had she done that? He stepped out of his, taking the socks off with them. She nudged his trousers down his waist and soon he stood in nothing but the latest men's fashion. Thankfully the semi-darkness hid the flush rising to his cheeks. Her fingers played with the band and his need for her tightened. Then her hand brushed over him and he kissed her before she could free him.

Tom's fingers toyed with the straps of her evening dress. Slowly, so she could stop him if she wanted, he drew them down, and her dress and slip glided to the floor. He pulled back and drank in the sight of her mussed hair, her dark eyes, her brassiere, her slim waist, her knickers, her legs, and God she was beautiful.

He lifted her by her thighs and she wrapped her legs around him. He laid her on the bed, climbed between her legs, and ground his hard need against her. She raised her hips for more pressure and his head spun.

Tom peppered kisses along her collarbone and his hand slid up her belly, up the material of her brassiere, and caressed the mounds underneath. She gasped, then moaned and begged him to take off the offending undergarment. He pulled at the string ties on the side and pushed it over her head. Her breasts perked up, free from the confining material, and he kneaded them, savouring their suppleness. Mary threw her head back as he tweaked her firm nipples. He kissed the curve of her breasts, then licked up to their tight buds, the taste of her skin dancing on his tongue. He sucked one, then the other, and nibbled lightly before swirling his tongue and she strangled a cry.

His hands flowed down the curve of her waist and planted kisses as he travelled lower. He licked around her belly button, and when he reached the fabric of her knickers, he stopped and returned his attention to her breasts, repeating the process.

"I need you," she whispered huskily.

He almost growled and kissed her roughly, inserting his hand under her knickers and sliding a finger up her wetness. Her hips jerked, and he circled the nub he found there slowly until her breaths came in pants. Mary's hands reached the waistband of his boxer shorts and pushed them down. Their eyes locked when she clamped her hand around him. He let out a deep grunt as she jerked him up and down. He moved away to slide off his boxer shorts the rest of the way, and she whimpered at the loss of contact. Then he grabbed hold of the fabric around her waist and pulled it down, revealing her curls and thighs.

They revelled in the sight of the other's naked body. Tom engraved every detail in his memory — the halo of hair spread on the bed, the way her eyes clouded with hunger and lust, her enticing curves, the satin softness of her skin. No vision of his could do her justice.

He spread her legs wide and kissed his way up her pale thigh, sometimes sucking, sometimes nipping. His finger returned to circle her sensitive nub as he did so, then pinched gently, which earned him a muffled cry, before he slipped his index into her warm depths.

Then his tongue lapped at the nub which tore a guttural groan from her. One of her hands tangled in his hair while the other twisted the sheets. He added another finger and curled them upwards, fascinated by the spasms he provoked in her. She gasped something that sounded like his name and he moaned against her, which forced her to swallow yet another cry. He swirled his tongue around the swollen nub, then sucked it into his mouth.

Mary's hips flew up and her muscles contracted around his fingers, drawing them in deeper. Her breathing was erratic and heavy, and when he lifted his head she was gazing down at him. She looked astonished. He withdrew his fingers and rose to her, kissing her salty skin on the way, then finally her lips. His hand caressed her breast gently, his thumb flicking the tip lazily.

Tom pressed his need against her curls and she ground her hips against him, pulling back to licked her lips.

"Only if you want to," he said, his voice raspy, barely holding it together.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. "Please."

Tom slid his hands down her thighs, then lifted and spread her knees. He coated himself with the wetness that had gathered on his tip, then slid it up and down her quivering lips. Slowly, he pushed in and moaned as her wet heat engulfed him. Her eyes rolled up into her head briefly and she pushed against him to take more in. When he was fully inside, he gripped her hips and moved within her, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Mary reached for him, her hands clutching his arms. He was panting and his head swirled as pleasure overwhelmed his senses. He leaned forward and grasped her thigh for leverage, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he thrust deeper and deeper.

Her pulse pounded against his lips and he kissed the sensitive skin there.

Mary ground her hips hard against him, rubbing her fingers in circles on scalp and his back. Tom leaned away to suck her nipple and she arched her back, strangling her cries and moans as much as she could. His hand slid down between them and landed on her nub and she shuddered her completion, digging her fingers deeper into his back.

Tom groaned as her walls pulsed around him and his release bolted through him. He kissed her to drown out his moans. He thrust hard, spurting into her.

When he released her lips, he was panting erratically and sweat slid down his forehead. Her breath caressed his skin, cooling it. Her hands lingered in his mat hair, and her eyelids fluttered a bit before she focused on him. She smiled, and he matched it, overcome with what he could only describe as euphoria.

As much as he wanted to stay in her, he slid out slowly, already missing her warmth. He brushed away a curl that stuck to her forehead. She leaned up to kiss him gently.

Tom pulled down the covers so that they could settle into the bed. Mary nestled into his arms and sighed.

"Why did we wait so long to do this?" she asked.

He chuckled, breathing in her scent and tracing patterns on her shoulder. "Now we know better."

"Hear, hear." Her eyes slid shut.

They laid together, serene, for some time. Tom focused on the slowing rise and fall of her chest, almost hypnotised, until he wiped his face to stay awake. "I need to go."

"No," Mary mumbled, already half asleep.

"Yes." He smiled. "It's the last thing I want to do, believe me." He nimbly slipped her out of his arms and stood from the bed, covering her with the sheets. He kissed her one last time and she sighed faintly.

Tom threw on his clothes as well as he could in the near darkness and picked up her own from the floor and placed them on the chair. He glanced at her sleeping form before closing the door behind him. When he fell onto his bed, still clothed, he slept deeply for the first time in years.

XX

At luncheon, Mary felt Tom's presence like he was the tree to her lightning, and she wished she could reach next to her and hold his hand. Actually, if she was making requests, she would ask for a lot more than just his hand.

She shook her head and willed her heart to slow, but her cheeks were already burning. This was not the place to think of what Tom could do with his hands.

"Well, Mary?" Her gaze flung from her plate to Papa. "What did you think of Mr Ramsay last night?"

She glanced quickly at Tom, but he simply shoved food into his mouth. "He was a fine gentleman, though I think it would've been more worthwhile to introduce the poor man to fresh mints."

Tom and Mama tried to hide their smiles. Papa frowned. "My dear girl, if you start judging men by their breath, then we are in trouble."

Mary's smile fell. "What do you mean by that?"

"Don't you wish to remarry?"

"Well I – I don't know. What's brought this up all of a sudden?"

Papa's brow furrowed. "Is it wrong of me to want my daughter to be happily married?"

"No. But I would appreciate it if we stopped the silly pretence that those gentlemen you invite aren't suiters you're parading around like it's my first season. Dinner would be a much more enjoyable affair without them."

"Well you can't just give up, not now. Time doesn't wait, and there's always a chance that you might meet someone to your liking."

"Are you saying that soon I will be too old for any man to want me?" She had thought something similar before, but it was insulting hearing it come from her own father.

"I'm just saying that it's important to act sooner rather than later."

"Well you can stop altogether because I've already found someone." Mary clamped her mouth shut to take back her words, but it was too late.

Tom straightened and choked while Mama's eyes widened to the size of the sea.

"Really? Who is he?"

Her parents' attention was riveted on her, and now she wished that she wasn't the kind of person who had to win _every_ argument. "What's that?"

"Who is this fellow you've seen fit to hide from us?" Papa asked pointedly, and her mind searched for some way out of the hole she dug herself into.

"Goodness, is that the time? Mary and I have to head out or we'll be late for our visits," Tom said, standing.

"The farms can wait," Papa said firmly.

Mary stood as well. "No, it would be rude to keep them waiting."

"It's rude to ignore your parents."

"Tom knows who it is," Mama said with a wide smile, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Will we like him?"

Tom's mouth opened and closed as he struggled for words and his cheeks reddened. "He hopes so."

Mary covered her forehead. This couldn't get any worse.

"Honestly, Mary, what does it cost you to tell us who he is?" Papa asked.

Papa was usually reasonable and understanding about a lot of things, but she wasn't sure how receptive he would be to her being with her former chauffeur of a brother-in-law. It was a bit of a stretch. And she didn't want to lose or ruin what she had with Tom. It was all so new and she couldn't remember being as happy as she was now.

But how long could it last, this secret of theirs?

A sigh escaped her lips. It had to come out at some point, she just wished it didn't have to be so soon. Mary sat back down slowly. "It's only started recently. That's one of the reasons I haven't mentioned it yet."

Tom sank back into his seat. She looked at him, and his eyes were wide, but he nodded ever so slightly to encourage her.

"You mean you just met him?" said Papa.

"No. No, we've known each other for a long time."

Mama gasped and covered her mouth. Mary's heart raced and she was trembling, trying to decipher her mother's reaction.  
"Can it be?" Mama asked, glancing between her and Tom, with the hint of a smile in her tone.

"What? What am I missing?"

Mary's gaze dropped to her lap. She took a deep breath, then did what she'd wanted to do since she sat down. She held her head high and reached for Tom's hand. His fingers wrapped between hers firmly.

Mama was grinning fondly, her hand now resting on her chest. But Papa…

"Is this some kind of joke?" He stood, shocked.

"No, Papa. Far from it."

"But you two are already family."

"It isn't illegal," Mary said.

"Is that supposed to make it right?"

"Lady Violet seems to think it is." Mary's head snapped to Tom, mouth agape, and he nodded to confirm it was true.

"Really, Robert, just think about it for a moment," Cora said.

"I can't listen to this right now." He marched out of the room.

Mary was crushing Tom's hand by the time Papa left.

"Don't worry too much about him. He'll come around. And I'm so pleased for you."

"Thank you, Cora."

Mama's words cheered Mary up in a way. If only she could forget the look of disgust in Papa's eyes.

XX

Mary sat on a peach blanket on the lawn. The sun wasn't as hot as it had been all summer, which was quite a relief, and the beautiful fall weather offered a reprieve from the day's earlier events. Tom was playing with George and Sybbie, sword fighting with branches. Then Tom tossed his stick to chase them like a monster, and the children squealed. She suddenly wondered what _their_ children would look like and accidentally slipped into a reverie where George and Sybbie had siblings. She mentally shook herself.

 _Do not get ahead of yourself._

After a while, Tom sat down next to her, leaning against his elbows, and his pinkie subtly brushed hers.

"They've got too much energy today," Tom said, catching his breath.

"You're just getting old," she said, smirking.

Tom held his hand over his heart. "You wound me, my lady." They laughed for a moment, before a heavier atmosphere settled in. They watched the children who were now pretending to be explorers in the wild. "I should speak to your father."

Mary met Tom's gaze. "You can. But I should speak to him first." She frowned. "I still can't believe I ruined our secret."

"It had to come out eventually. It probably would've been worse the longer we kept it." His hand now covered her gloved one and she wished they were alone in her room again.

"You're right," she said.

He squeezed her hand, and she knew that no one, not even Papa, could keep her from being with Tom.

XX

Papa was writing furiously at the desk in the library, and she stopped a few feet behind him. Somehow, there was something appropriate about defending her relationship with Tom where it had largely developed.  
"May I have a word with you, Papa?"

He sighed heavily and turned around in his chair to face her. "You may."

She'd practiced over and over in her mind, but her fists still clenched nervously. "I know you're probably upset about Tom and I," she started gently.

He chuckled, sounding exasperated. "Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I'd never hired an Irish socialist as a chauffeur."

Mary's eyes widened, because that would be a very different world indeed, and she wasn't sure she was comfortable imagining it. "You don't mean that."

Papa sighed again. "It seemed such a trivial decision, and nearly fifteen years later, it still affects me." He shook his head.

Mary took a deep breath. "Papa, I know he and I are technically family. But there is no blood relation." She raised her head. "He may not have a title, but there is no other man in the world who will love and care for Downton as he does."

Papa tried to interject but she carried on. "And if you ask me with whom I see myself ten, twenty, fifty years from now, I see Tom. Chauffeur, Irish, socialist, no matter the label you pin on him, he is the one by my side, making me laugh, making me happy." She breathed deeply to settle her frantic heartbeat. "Would you ruin that for me, Papa?"

He stood, his face grave. "You're wrong, you know. I do wonder what it would be like without him."

Mary's heart wrung painfully. She hadn't expected him to deny her.

He deflated. "But I would never want to find out. Not after what you've said. And not when I think about how Tom contributed to Downton, gave me my first grandchild," he looked at her intently, "and saved my eldest daughter. He's a good man, that I know."

Mary heard her pulse in her ear as hope surged through her veins. "Are you saying…"

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yes, I suppose I'm saying you have my blessing."

"Oh, Papa." She rushed over to him and kissed his cheek.

XX

Mary hurried to the nursery where Tom had taken the children. He stepped out just as she rounded the corner. When he spotted her, his eyes brightened.  
"How did it go?" he asked.

She simply grabbed his hand and pulled him along the corridor, rushing them into her room. When the door shut, she swept him into a kiss which he eagerly returned. His fingers traced her spine and hers flexed in his hair.

"Can I please take this as a good sign?" he asked, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

She cupped his cheeks. "A very good sign." She kissed his bottom lip. "He gave us his blessing."

He exhaled and crushed her against him. "I love you," he said breathlessly in her ear.

"I love you, Tom, more than you know."

His lips pressed kisses up the length of her neck. "Will you," her eyes widened, "Lady Mary Crawley," he got down on one knee, taking her hand in his, "do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

His cerulean eyes were mesmerising and he was nervous and smiling that smile that made her heart melt. "Yes."

Tom wrapped her in his arms and kissed her even though she couldn't stop smiling.

XX

Snow fell gently outside the frosted window, but Tom and Mary's room was far from cold.

Tom's hand folded over Mary's bare hip, pulling her sleek form under the sheets. Their breathing was still heavy, and she planted kisses on his shoulder before resting her head upon it. Their hands interwove as they drifted down from their high. He idly thumbed the wedding band that adorned her ring finger.

"Tom," she said tentatively.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Do you want more children?"

His pulse quickened, all drowsiness forgotten. He hadn't been expecting that, though he couldn't deny that the question had crossed his mind. She watched him, and he detected a tremor of nervousness. He turned to his side to face her. "Why are you asking?"

She pursed her lips together, then licked them. "Because I'm pregnant."

His jaw dropped, his heart throbbed, and a mix of emotions whirled in his gut. He spread his hand over Mary's belly and kissed her deeply. Then he buried his face into the crease of her neck and breathed in her scent before meeting her gaze. "I love you."

Mary sighed a breath she must've been holding. "I love you more."

"Impossible." He swallowed her protest by claiming her lips once more before sliding down to her belly button and kissing all around it.

"Are you worried?" she asked.

He rose back up to her and cupped her cheek. "I'm terrified." Tom fell into the chocolate depths of her eyes. "But God knows I'm grateful for you. For our child." The words were delicious on his tongue. "And I'll focus on the good."

She enveloped him in her arms and squeezed tightly. "I won't leave you," she said.

Tom's voice trembled as he said, "I know."

XX

Tom clenched his hair as Mary's cries surged from beyond the door, while he was stuck in the bloody waiting room.

He shouldn't have suggested a walk in the spring morning air. She shouldn't be in so much pain. They never should've had sex.

Each one of Mary's screams tore at his soul and he buried his face in his hands, scrunching his eyes to fight back tears.

When he heard a higher pitched scream, the scream of a baby, _his baby,_ he bounded to his feet, anxious to run into the room.

But no one came for him and Mary's agony continued.

He pounded on the door, hoping Isobel, Dr Clarkson, _anyone,_ would open it for him, but when it stayed shut, he panicked.

 _She can't die, she can't die, she can't die._

Proper protocol be damned, he needed to be with Mary. He burst through the door and spotted her sweat-soaked face, her dark hair clinging to her forehead and neck. He hurried to her side but it felt like he was moving through molasses.

"Tom!" He heard Isobel say but he didn't care. He grasped Mary's hand and her eyes searched for his.

"Tom," she said, smiling weakly, then she gripped his hand tightly as she cried out.

"I'm here, Mary." He kissed her fingers and crumbled when she lost focus.

He finally looked toward Isobel and Dr Clarkson, and noticed a baby wrapped in blankets held in Isobel's arms. His heart stopped. Their baby. But if it was already here, then why…

"You're almost done," Dr Clarkson announced.

Tom's world spun off its axis.

A new screeching wail blasted his ears and Mary's hand loosened. He couldn't see what was happening beyond the covers used to hide her lower body, but then Dr Clarkson emerged with a second bundle, which he extended to Tom. He glanced at Mary, whose eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling quickly. She might still need the doctor's attention, so he gently put down Mary's hand on the bed and took the newborn in his arms. He was enthralled by the tiny face, but he couldn't indulge in his happiness until he knew Mary was safe.

"You have a daughter and a son, in that order, Mr Branson. Congratulations," said Dr Clarkson, tidying up. "I'm relieved to say they're both healthy and Mary will be perfectly fine."

"Thank God," Tom said, his voice hoarse.

Mary's eyes fluttered open and Isobel approached, offering her the baby. Her eyes lit up, and Tom settled onto the bed next to her.

"Congratulations, you two. We'll leave you alone for a moment," Isobel said, and soon there were only Mary, Tom, and the twins.

"They're beautiful," Mary said, breathlessly.

"You're their mother after all," Tom said, smiling. He leaned in to kiss her temple, then her lips. "I was so scared."

"Well it's over now, and I think it's safe to say it won't happen again, unless you plan on carrying the next ones."

He laughed. "I wish I could be the one to suffer instead."

"If only," she said, chuckling, then pressed her lips against her daughter's forehead.

Tom's eyes drifted over his son, memorising every hair, every eyelash, every movement of the squirming baby in his arms.

Sybbie and Georgie ran into the room with Robert and Cora not far behind.

"What a marvellous surprise," Robert said.

"I can't believe it. Twins. How wonderful," Cora cooed from the other side of the bed. Sybbie was next to her grandmother and Georgie stood on tiptoes next to Tom.

"Meet your brother, Georgie," Tom said.

Georgie examined the newborn's face, then looked up at Tom with bright eyes. "He's Sybbie's brother too, right Daddy?"

Tom smiled. "Yes. And over there is your little sister."

"They're so tiny," Sybbie said.

"I held you when you were this tiny too," Mary said, and Sybbie beamed.

"So we're still a family?" Georgie asked nervously.

"Yes," Tom said, meeting the young boy's relieved gaze. "We're a family."

XX

The nursery had been rearranged to accommodate the twins, so Georgie and Sybbie now had their own rooms to avoid being woken up at odd hours. Mary was watching over the sleeping twins in the dim light and Tom wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"I can't bring myself to look away," she said, gently.

"I know what you mean."

Their children were born without the weight of tragedy. This was the part of motherhood that Mary had missed the last time, and he was relieved that she now savoured it.

"Do you think they're happy for us?"

"I do." He kissed her jaw. "I really do."

She turned around and laid a hand on his cheek.

"All I know is I'm happy, Tom. Happier than I imagined I could be. And I wouldn't change a thing."

And a weight lifted from his chest he didn't even know he'd been carrying, because there'd always been that _what if_ , and she'd put it to rest.

He melded his lips with hers and felt in every bone of his body, with every beat of his heart, that he was home.

 _Finis_

A/N: Tom and Mary's relationship stole my heart in Season 4, and as soon as the series ended, I was compelled to write a relatively plausible way the story could've developed for these two to come to their full potential. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it.

P.S. I didn't name the twins so that everyone could imagine what fits best.

Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. The title is inspired by lyrics from the beautiful song "I Found" by Amber Run:

" _I found love where it wasn't supposed to be,_

 _Right in front of me."_


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